


It’s a Fool’s Life, This One

by thispieceofmind



Series: Time to Pretend [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Underage - Freeform, part two wow, three year age gap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 11:51:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thispieceofmind/pseuds/thispieceofmind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You.” Louis takes a deep breath. “Fuck, Harry, you’re so confusing.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>They're in boarding school, and Harry really shouldn't like Louis like that, but he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It’s a Fool’s Life, This One

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2/3! They're 13/16 in this bit.

When Louis doesn’t kiss Harry goodbye on the last day of school before the summer hols, he forces himself not to scream out loud. He just hugs for as long as he can, says he’ll text, and gets on his train with clenched fists around the handles of his trunks. The ride home feels slower than it is, and he stares outside the window and thanks his lucky stars that it’s cloudy. He leans against the window and thinks of the flowers that are all going to be in full bloom when he gets home.  


He spends a lot of time in the garden, that summer. He weaves crowns and puts them in his hair. He gives some to Gemma who doesn’t seem to appreciate them as much anymore. She’s always out with her friends. It’s a lonely summer, Harry thinks. But his mum takes him to the sea, and he just watches for a while, in and out and back and forth. Over and over and over. It’s calming though, when he doesn’t think about what an enigma that ocean is. Harry knows he thinks too much. So he tries not to, and just looks.  


Sometimes he wishes it was like that with Louis, where he could just look and not get that need to touch and kiss and love.  


Louis doesn’t text much. And even though he tells himself not to think too much, he still thinks about _why_.  


But the lonely summer passes soon enough, and then he’s back on a train and spending the night in his dorm with Niall and Liam talking about the new music they found over the summer and the songs that Niall can play for them on his new guitar that he got as an early birthday present. They go to dinner, but the dining hall is so crowded and the new first years are so inundated with new surroundings that Harry doesn’t see Louis once, and he tells himself to look for him and to not be sad that he’s not in the garden before their meal like he always is on the first day of school.  


And yes, he tells himself that, but Harry doesn’t always do what he’s told.  


But the next day, he thinks he gets why, because Louis is holding hands with Nick Grimshaw on top of the table across the dining hall, and well, Harry feels like he’s going to throw up, just a little. And it’s not just because Louis is _with_ somebody, because they were never together – not that it doesn’t hurt either way – but it’s that it’s _Nick Grimshaw_ , and he’s got the big hair and the big eyes and he’s tall and funny and _old_. He’s a year older than Louis, and he dj’s all the parties and runs the schools’ radio station with his friend Greg. Harry immediately feels inadequate with his hair that’s starting to make too many curls and his average height and his _thirteen_ years.  


He sinks back into his seat and half-heartedly picks at his eggs while he tries to pay attention to whatever Niall is telling about his summer. It’s something about sneaking pints that’s probably bullshit, but Harry just can’t focus. He wants to bang his head on the table or something, but he’s pretty sure it won’t work. He sighs heavily and ignores the way Louis lights up as they walk out, Nick swinging their hands between them. Harry feels like he’s going to throw up, definitely.  


Lonely summer, he thinks, jealous school year.  


***  


“I saw you watching him at lunch, y’know.”  


“Watching who?” Harry’s playing dumb.  


“Breakfast, too.”  


“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”  


“Don’t be a prat, Harry.”  “I’m not! All I’m saying is that–”  


“Harry.”  


“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry insists.  


“Harry.”  

“Niall.”  


“You’re being ridiculous. Just talk to me, mate,” Niall says. His voice is kind, but Harry just sinks back further into pillows and is thankful that they don’t get any homework their first day back. “Oh, shut up, Harry! You’re jealous of Grimshaw because he’s shagging Tomlinson, and I know it. So don’t be daft.”  


Harry groans and rolls over on his bed so his eyes are facing the window. He can feel Niall’s gaze on him, but he doesn’t know what to say. He knows Niall is right. Of course Niall is right. He mumbles into his pillow, “I kissed him, y’know.” He rolls over again so he can gauge Niall’s reaction.  


“What?” Niall exclaims. “While he was with Grimshaw?”  


“No. No!” Harry bursts. “I wouldn’t – no. It was before; last year.”  


“Oh. Were you dating?” Niall asks. He looks a little offended as to why he didn’t know.  


Harry clears his throat. “I– um. No. It was more of a friends with benefits thing.”  


“Oh,” Niall says.  


“Yeah.”  

There’s a pregnant pause.  


“Do you love him?”  


Harry rolls back over. He hopes Niall doesn’t expect a response.  


He skips dinner. This time, he’s the only one.  


***  


Two weeks pass, and Harry manages not to run into Louis once. And it’s not like he’s _avoiding_ him or anything, but he doesn’t meet his eye at meals, and if he sees him in the hall, there might be some occasions where he slips down another corridor and takes the long way to class. Sometimes he’s late. But he’s good, really. Niall hasn’t pestered him, and Liam never would, so – it’s good. He hangs out in the greenhouse and the garden, and he helps his science professor and plays footy with Niall when he knows practice is over and Louis won’t be there.  


He evades Louis’ presence for two whole weeks and only when it’s raining and Niall doesn’t want to come outside with him are those two weeks over.  


It’s late and the sky is dark, so only the lights that surround the field are illuminating it. He sees the white specks underneath the lamps. He looks at the field once before trudging down the hill while looking at his feet. He’s soaked by the time he gets down there, and only when he glances up is when he sees the figure sitting in the grass by the closer goal, head in his hands, but then flopping back on the ground and staring up at the angry sky, churning with stormy clouds and seemingly endless rain. Harry thinks he can run now while he can and just retreat back inside, but soon enough, the boy in the grass is sitting up at the sound of movement.  


“Harry?”  


 _Shit._ “Erm, hi, Louis.”  


Louis stands and makes a feeble attempt to brush off some of the grass that’s clinging to his shirt, but he’s so wet that it’s really no use. He speaks carefully. “Hi.”  


Harry doesn’t know what to say, so he keeps his mouth shut. The rain deflates his hair and makes his white shirt stick to his pale skin and skinny arms. His shorts are heavy and raindrops cling to his eyelashes, and he thinks that maybe if he started to cry Louis wouldn’t even notice. He kind of wants to cry, a little.  


“Why have you been avoiding me?” Louis asks, and it’s not soft like he would be normally. Not sweet. Not gentle. Maybe angry, confused.  


“I haven’t.”  


“You have,” Louis presses.  


“We don’t really see each other around, Louis. You’re sixteen. I’m not. It happens.” He’s lying. He’s lying so badly, but maybe the rain will mask his failed coverups and pure, thumping jealousy.  


“Why haven’t you been making an effort like you always have?”  


Harry scowls and folds his wet arms across his chest. “Why haven’t you?”  


“I’ve been busy– y’know. With Nick, and, and harder classes.”  

“Right, okay, so you’re allowed to use busy as an excuse, but you’ve not made any more of an attempt than I have! And have you thought, maybe I don’t want to see you, Louis. You walk around with _Grimshaw_ , and– and, you didn’t even tell me. You told me you would text Louis. You never texted.” Harry’s control snaps. He’s so _angry._ Because over the summer, it was like he never existed, and now– Harry’s doing just the same. He thinks he has a right to be mad. He’s not a toy.  

“Harry, I–”  


“Whatever.” Harry makes to walk away, further onto the field so he can run and slip and kick the fucking ball even though he’s rubbish. He remembers when he and Louis would verse each other. Now they’re running away.  


“Don’t be a child about this,” Louis mutters before Harry can leave.  


Harry’s scowl manages to grow deeper, and he’s wavering now. He feels the heat in the corners of his eyes and the tightness in his throat. “I’m not a child,” he bites out. “I’m thirteen.”  


“Then stop acting like one, Harry! You’re being immature just because I got a boyfriend. Have things got to change?”  Harry’s crying now. “Obviously they have, because before this you would have never called me a child. You would’ve never been this mean.”  


“ _Mean?_ ” Louis calls out, and Harry slumps to the ground, sitting against the goal post, shoulders shaking. Louis doesn’t do anything. Harry thinks that this isn’t real. How could this be real? If it was real, Louis would do something. “I’m not being mean, Harry,” he spits. “This is fucking reality, and just because I’ve got a boyfriend does not mean you have to avoid me.”  


“Well, after this–” Harry hiccups loudly with a choked sob “–you’ve given me many more reasons to avoid you.”  
“Oh, grow up!”  


Harry looks up then, eyes teary and red, cheeks stained from the cold of the rain. He thinks that just then is when Louis realizes he’s crying. He’s never said this before, to Louis. Not to anyone. With meaning, anyway. “Well, fuck you, Louis. Fuck you.”  


***  


After that, Harry tells himself that he needs to man up. He needs to man up big time, and now that their avoidance is even more mutual, days mainly consist of Harry telling himself not to sulk and to not look at Nick and Louis. It works out probably sixty percent of the time. He still winces a little when he remembers how dumb he was the rest of that day in the rain, because at first, he was expecting an apology from Louis, but soon realized that he had no idea that he broke Harry’s heart. He was too self-righteous to apologize, anyway. So Harry had slipped a note under his door that said _Sorry .x_ on it, but he never got a response. He thinks that made it worse.  


He ignores their constantly clasped hands and tries to get Niall to teach him to play a Coldplay song on guitar so he has something to focus on. It works for about a week, and then he runs into Louis in the library. He’s skipping dinner, and he knows that he won’t have anything to snack on after, like that time last year, but he can’t be bothered. He’d rather curl up and go to sleep. But he gathers his tea and his books and sets out for that couch because it’s comfortable, but then Louis is already there – luckily alone – with the rim of his cup against his mouth, but blue eyes wide and staring right at him as he walks to the table.  


“Harry,” he says, and it’s more out of surprise than anything.  


Harry panics a little, and goes to nudge his books further up in his arms with his knee, but they slip from his grip and fall all over the floor. He mutters a curse under his breath, attempts to say sorry, and is thanking whoever it is that made him not drop his tea that was safely held by three curled fingers. He places the cup on the table and makes to gather his things on the ground. He’s surprised to see Louis on his knees across from him, straightening some papers that went awry. He holds them out for Harry to grab, but when Harry glances up, he just stares for a moment, and the light’s reflecting off of his eyes that are wandering, and just for a second, Harry wonders where they want to go.  


Then the papers are being dropped all over again, and there’s a hand on Harry’s cheek and lips on his, and it takes a few beats for Harry to realize what’s happening, but then he’s kissing back, and moving his lips against Louis’ and his head is spinning, because this shouldn’t be happening but it’s happening and it’s really all he wants. It doesn’t last longer than thirty seconds, because then Louis is pulling back, hand feather light against Harry’s smooth cheek thats flushed with the warmth of the room and the warmth of the tea and the warmth of Louis.  


But like a switch, Louis’ eyes stop wandering and they snap out of it, suddenly scared and guilty. “Shit, shit, _shit_ , I shouldn’t have done that. _Shit_.”  


Harry panics again and gathers his things, setting them on the table and placing a gentle, calming hand on Louis’ bicep. He’s still swearing under his breath. “Hey– Lou, I won’t–”  


Louis kisses him again, leaving Harry there speechless and a little more than stunned.  


“Fuck, I–”  


“Louis,” Harry says. “I won’t tell anyone; it’s all right.”  


“Look, I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to, I don’t know what made me. I have to go, yeah? I’ll see you around.” He pauses as he scoops up his books and leaves his tea on the table. “Maybe, I guess.”  


Harry doesn’t get much studying done.  


***  


Harry’s very conflicted the following day, but then he sees Nick and Louis in one of the empty classrooms Louis used to take him, and well, Harry’s feeling a little lonely. He’s not sure what to do, really, but he thinks he needs a new friend. Not that Niall and Liam aren’t lovely, but he needs someone who he can make a first impression on. But Harry remembers their sister school, the one not too far from here, and how they’re supposed to be coming to the greenhouse for a lesson because their school doesn’t have one. Maybe he’ll make a new friend.  


If it’s one thing that Harry has learned about girls, though, is that they’re cruel. Gemma has told him about the backstabbing and the hatred and the terrible words and the grudges that were never forgotten. He thinks that maybe that’s one of the reasons he doesn’t like girls too much. They’re difficult. And yes, while boys can be difficult too, their friendships involve more of the “forgive and forget” motto. He hopes that there’s a girl who likes flowers as much as he does.  


It turns out there’s a girl whose hair reaches the bottom of her back who calls Harry cute and likes irises because of their color. Harry thinks she’s nice enough, and while he’s not _attracted_ to her, she’s pretty and kind, but her eyes aren’t blue and she isn’t charmingly cynical. But he kisses her on the cheek at the end of the day and takes her number and tells her about Saturdays for guests. She smiles and blushes, and it only makes Harry a little uncomfortable.  


So she starts coming on Saturdays, and at first some other girls would go, too, and Niall and Liam hang out with them and some groups of kids, but then Harry shows her different places around the school and just genuinely enjoys talking to her, so they’re alone. And it’s simple. Harry never wants her, though, never wants to date her or kiss her or touch her, but he sees Nick and Louis sitting on one of the benches outside in their heavy coats as the colder months approach, and they look _happy_ , and Harry wants that. He wants to be happy. Or at least show Louis that he is, whether or not it’s the truth.  


He knows what he’s doing is stupid, but he kisses her once by the fields and asks her to be his girlfriend, and she says yes. So they hold hands on Saturdays and it always makes Harry feel clammy. As much as he likes her, it’s not like that, so it’s mostly him trying to not be awkward. So they date, and he thinks Louis is confused, or wants to think Louis is confused. But– he’s trying to push past whatever this is. He doesn’t think he’s doing a very good job.  


The thing with Harry is that he never takes her back to the garden. It fills him with nostalgia and wishful thinking, so she doesn’t get a crown, and Harry likes it that way. He knows he shouldn’t.  


***  


Harry’s pressed up against the wall, and there’s hot breath cascading against his neck. He squirms as kisses are littered on his skin, making his temperature rise, going straight to his cheeks. He looks flushed and bright.  


“We’re both cheating right now.”  


“I know.”  


Another kiss, light, just a brush of the lips, is left against his mouth.  


“You don’t like her.”  


“I know.”  


“You like boys, Harry.”  


Harry smirks and trails a hand up Louis’ thigh so it’s hovering right over his cock trapped in his trousers. He kisses up Louis’ neck and whispers, “I know.”  


It’s a little fuzzy to Harry, how he got here. But he’s against Louis’ room’s door, hair messy and thoughts messier. He was told by his teacher to stop by every room in the boys’ building and slip them their flyer about the flowers going on sale for the winter ball. So when he knocked on Louis’ door and pushed the paper through the gap, he was expecting to just walk away and move on, but the door opened and he was yanked inside, immediately pressed against the door, and thoroughly kissed.  


Louis’ hands rub up his torso. “Fuck, I can’t stay away from you.” Harry’s heart swells a little, but he palms Louis’ cock and kisses his neck because he knows that’s what _feels_ good. Louis swats his hand away. “None of that. Just let me kiss you, and then, then you have to go– okay?” Harry steps back for a moment. “No more ignoring me, yeah? Be my friend again, Haz.”  

Harry reaches up for another kiss and holds Louis’ close to him because he knows he’s gonna have to let go soon. “Okay.”  


***  


Harry likes that whole “forgive and forget” motto, because it’s essentially as easy as that. Of course, it’s not completely forgotten, but it’s forgiven, for now. Harry wouldn’t say things go back to normal, because they don’t. But there will be hellos in the hallway and the occasional conversation, but Harry’s still dating a girl and Louis is still with Nick, so that’s that. He tells himself to hold out till Winter Ball because Louis will go with Nick, and Harry really doesn’t want to go alone. He’s guiltier than ever, and he wonders if Louis is, too. Most of what Harry can register is _lovelovewantneedlovejealousyguilt_. But, nothing changes.  


It’s two weeks until the dance when Harry gets a message on the whiteboard that Niall hung at the beginning of the semester. _Haz, come study with me @ 4. My room, Lou_. He doesn’t even try to fight his grin, so he turns right around with his messenger back on his shoulder and walks to Louis’ dorm. He stops in the corridor when he hears Louis’ voice.  


“Nick, stop.” He’s giggling.  


“But your arse is so nice,” Nick says.  


“Nick. You’ve got to go. I told Harry to come by so we can study.”  


“Oh,” Nick mutters. Harry doesn’t like the tone of his voice very much. “Your little third year friend?”  


“He’s not little,” Louis defends, his voice still playful. “But yeah, we’re just gonna study a bit. Chat.”  


“He’s got the cutest crush on you, really. Or last year, he did. Thought you dumped him this year.” Nick chuckles.  


“I couldn’t dump him. He’s a good lad.”  


“Yeah, yeah. All right then, love. I’ll leave you to it.”  


“Later, babe.”  


Harry hears the smack of his lips, and he slips into another hallway, only coming out when he knows the coast is clear and he hears the click of the door and no more footsteps. He takes a deep breath, straightens the strap on his shoulder, and goes to knock on Louis’ door.  


When it opens, Harry gets no greeting. “So, how much of that conversation did you hear?”  


“What?” Harry says. He didn’t think he was being obvious.  


“You’re never late, Harry. It’s 4:15. How much did you hear?”  


“Since he started talking about your arse.”  


“Right,” Louis says, but he pulls Harry in by the hand, and they flop on the bed wordlessly, crossing their legs and sorting out their books. Harry starts with his homework because he hasn’t really got any tests soon. His hair falls over his eyes as he focuses on some maths problem. It bothers him, but he doesn’t do anything about it he knows he’ll lose his place. It’s not until a gentle hand is tucking his curl behind his ear does he _need_ to look up, because well – fuck maths.  


“I’m so confused, Harry,” Louis says, and for once in his life, Harry thinks Louis’ eyes look scared.  


“Confused about what?” Harry asks, and he’s pretty sure he knows, but it could be presumptuous so he thinks it’s safer to ask.  


“You.” Louis takes a deep breath. “Fuck, Harry, you’re so confusing.” Harry doesn’t think there’s a single confusing thing about him, he’s pretty simple, really. But he’s sure Louis has a reason so he leaves the silence as room for him to explain, unless he decides to. “And, Nick–” Louis cuts himself off. He studies Harry for a moment, and then shakes his head. “Can I teach you something new? Is that okay?”  

Harry thinks his eyes are panicked. He nods.  


“I know you have a girlfriend, but, I – I need you, and I feel so bad, and this is so wrong, but, you, you’re–”  


Harry kisses him, and that keeps him quiet. “I don’t like her. She’s a good friend, but–” He pauses. “I’m still dating her because I don’t want to go to Winter Ball alone.”  


“Why don’t you find someone else?”  


Harry smiles sadly. “She’s looking forward to it; I don’t want to upset her. Plus, there’s not too many gay thirteen year olds anyway.”  


Louis squeezes his shoulder. “You’re a good kid, Harry.”  


They share a smile, and Harry says, “You can teach me something, though, if you want.”  


Louis moves closer. “Okay. But this is purely for educational purposes, so you know.” His eyes don’t look so scared anymore.  


“Educational,” Harry repeats.  


“Yes, Harold, educational. So you can impress that boy some day.”  


“Yeah, all right.” And his heart has sunk a bit, but Louis is kissing up his neck and his hand is creeping up his thigh, and Harry’s not doing any maths, so life isn’t so bad, really.  


Harry wants to touch Louis everywhere. He’s all golden skin and smooth everything, and it’s like his hands wander on their own. Louis gets him off first, lets his hand fall on Harry’s cock, and just _show_. It’s slow movements and soft mewls and cries spilling from Harry’s mouth, until he bites down on Louis’ lip and comes over his hand. “You think you’ve got it?” Louis murmurs low in his ear. He wipes his hand with a tissue and trails a clean finger down Harry’s bare chest, soft and undefined.  


“Y-yeah,” Harry stutters out. “Think so.”  


“All right then, have a go.”  


“Yeah,” Harry repeats. “Kiss me first, please.”  


Louis smiles with what Harry thinks is fondness, but this kiss isn’t fond, it’s rushed and hasty like Louis doesn’t want to get too close. He pulls back and asks if it’s better, and Harry nods even though his heart is still beating too fast in his chest. He kisses Louis’ neck as he presses a hesitant thumb into his hipbone. He’s slow and careful as he peels off Louis’ briefs, and he doesn’t really mean to stare, but the only hard cock he’s seen is his own, and Louis is reaching the later end of his puberty, and Harry’s just really, really overwhelmed.  


“It’s okay, Haz. You’re okay.”  


“I’m okay.”  


“Take your time.”  


“I wanna make you feel good, Lou,” Harry breathes. “I’m learning, but I’ve got to be able to make someone feel good, yeah? It’d be pointless if I don’t get you off.” Harry doesn’t let Louis say anything else, because he’s kissing him again because he _can_ , and that’s not a common occurrence. He grasps Louis’ cock because he’s not sure what else to do. “Okay?” he asks.  


“Good, yeah. Move, Harry.”  


Harry pumps his fist a couple of times, and the catch in Louis’ breath and how his hips buck up make his Harry shiver. It’s a little dry, but he thumbs over the head and uses the precome to make it slicker. And Harry keeps moving his hand, but he’s still a little nervous and hesitant. His eyes flick from Louis’ cock to his blue gaze. “Can I kiss you again? Please, Lou, I’m–”  


“S’all right,” Louis says, and he’s still calm, like always, but his voice is a little more raspy. “Just, let me talk you through it, yeah?”  


“Okay, yeah,” Harry agrees, twisting his wrist and watching Louis bite his lips. He wonders if he hadn’t what noise would’ve spilled from them.  


“You’re good, Harry. Just like that. I don’t even have to tell you anything. You’re perfect,” Louis gasps, pushing up into Harry’s touch. 

“How ‘bout you talk to me, instead. Keep you distracted. What do you think about – when you do this to yourself?”  


“I – fuck,” Harry says, and fuck him, he can’t lie for his life. “You,” he whispers in Louis’ ear.  


Louis comes all over his fist.  


***  


Harry’s dressed in a crisp, light blue shirt, black trousers, and a black bow tie. He looks in the mirror and thinks he looks nice enough, puts a bit of gel in his hair, and gives a thumbs up to Niall and Liam, both looking sharp. They walk down stairs together, laughing at nothing and everything, and while Harry’s as gay as the Fourth of July, he still gasps when he reaches the main building because _she’s_ standing there with a dress that reaches her knees that matches his shirt. Her hair is pulled half up and half down, and Harry thinks she’s beautiful. He gets a twist in his stomach knowing that he’s going to break up with her soon. He thinks that guilt is his least favorite thing.  


Niall and Liam have dates of their own, and they link hands or arms with the girls they’re with and follow the sea of people to the dance. The ball room is elegantly decorated with white and blue, and Harry’s glad that third years are finally allowed to go to the dance. It’s just a rule the schools have; first and second years are deemed too young. He finds Louis in the crowd straight away, dark in a navy button down and white jeans, suspenders running up his shoulders. Nick is behind him, though, kissing his neck until Louis shoves him off playfully.  


Harry’s stomach twists, because of _guilt_ , that culprit again. After that first time they got each other off, Louis was hasty to get Harry out, but it was a week later when he cave again, showing him how to rub their cocks together and come over both of their fists. They haven’t really spoken since. So much for being friends again, really. Harry thinks that if people could see his insides, he would be green because all he is jealousy and guilty. He squirms a little, but sits down at his assigned table and watches people come in, all beautiful in suits and dresses. He plays with her fingers absently, and well, it’s peaceful enough, music gentle for entrance. He knows he’s thinking too much.  


He dances and eats and watches Louis more than he should. He spins her around the best he can because his mum used to put on classic records and teach him to dance. She kisses his cheek at one point, and tells him that she’s going to dance with some friends, so all Harry can do is blink and say okay. Then he’s alone on the dance floor, and he can vaguely make out Louis dancing with Nick a little too closely, but he peels his eyes away while he can and sits, picking at some chips and sighing heavily.  


She doesn’t really come back to find him, and Harry mopes. No girlfriend, no friends who are busy with more _girls_ , and no Louis. Halfway through, Nick and Greg switch places, so Louis is boyfriend free, and Harry guesses that he decides to come over to him. He’s not sure why.  


“Having fun?” he asks, sitting down in the seat next to Harry.  


“Not exactly.”  


“Pity,” Louis says, and Harry hates that attitude he has on. Like nothing matters. Like Harry doesn’t matter.  


“Suppose so,” Harry mutters, and he runs a hand through his hair and refuses to meet Louis’ eyes.  


“Girlfriend ditch you?”  


Harry thinks he could say something passive aggressive, but he bites out, “Y’know, yeah, she fucking did. And I wouldn’t even be dating her if it weren’t for you, so shut up, Louis. I don’t really want to make moony eyes at you right now, because all you seem to do is break my heart.”  


“Break your heart?” Louis asks, and Harry can’t tell if he’s playing dumb or being serious, so Harry just growls and shoves his chair back, standing and looking down on him for once in his life.  


“Are you honestly that thick?” He shakes his head. “Whatever, I can’t – I can’t do any of this right now, and I don’t want to cry a goddamn school dance.”  


He storms off without even daring to look at Louis, finds his girlfriend and tells her he feels a bit sick. She cups his cheek and tells him that he does look a little peaky.  


Yeah, Harry definitely feels a bit sick.


End file.
